


it's loving, with a twist

by notinthisarmy



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Power Play, Semi-Public Sex, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 06:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12835572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notinthisarmy/pseuds/notinthisarmy
Summary: In which the tables are turned.





	it's loving, with a twist

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhit's been a rough few months, creatively, so i'm trying to get back into the swing of things with something quick and dirty, because trying to finish my longer WIPs has gotten me nowhere. i haven't even re-read this, so if there are stupid mistakes, please forgive me.
> 
> title is from little mix's "private show".

> In which the tables are turned.

### Notes:

> uhhhhit's been a rough few months for me creatively, and i'm sure y'all know why... so i'm trying to get back into the swing of this with something quick and dirty, because trying to fix my many long WIPs hasn't been going so well. i haven't even read this since finishing it, so if there are stupid mistakes, forgive me.
> 
> there is some pinning/physical restraint in this, just as a warning.
> 
> title from little mix's "private show".

### Work Text:

“I don’t know why you always think you’re gonna be in charge,” Pat says. His tone is light, but Griffin can feel every breath shift the hairs on the back of his neck.

Griffin presses his tongue to his teeth, squirming, testing the strength of Pat’s hold. It’s sturdier than he would’ve expected. Pat’s barely taller than him and far leaner, but he must eat a lot more protein or some bullshit. He’s strong. Griffin’s hands are pinned to the small of his back, and there’s a thigh between his legs, pressing him up against the door. Pat’s other arm is wrapped around his chest. Griffin turned his face to the side just in time, and it’s occurring to him that probably an office bathroom stall isn’t the cleanest place to be plastered against, but what can you do? He lets out a strangled little laugh, both at the absurdity of the situation and at how helpless he is now. That’s new. Kind of fun, maybe.

“What?” Pat pushes closer, till the pressure on Griffin’s dick, trapped between Pat and the door, verges on uncomfortable. Griffin gasps, squirming some more, and Pat lets up just a little. “Something funny?”

“Nope,” Griffin says, and then he laughs again. “It’s pent-up energy, dude, the fuck do you want from me?  _Touch_ me.”

“You  _still_ think you’re in charge.” Pat’s head drops, maybe in disbelief, and first Griffin feels the soft brush of his hair and then a bright flash of pain as Pat bites the base of his neck, hard. He just manages to trap the yelp in his throat. “What do you like so much about pushing people around?”

Griffin huffs, giving a cursory little writhe against Pat’s hold, mostly for show now. “I don’t do that,” he scoffs.

“No?” Pat drags his beard up Griffin’s neck to his ear, which is fucking weird, absolutely, but it also makes him shiver. He’s breathing in Griffin’s ear, and Griffin can’t help but tense up. He’s not getting any less hard, though, which comes as a bit of a surprise.

“Maybe I’m always in charge ‘cause I actually get us both off,” Griffin suggests, but his acerbic tone has no effect on Pat.

“Maybe you’re usually in charge because I let you be,” Pat replies, and Griffin’s body jolts like there was something physical in the words. He feels like an idiot, but maybe Pat can chalk it up to his intermittent struggles. “No one’s getting off until you either tell me to let go or you stop fuckin’ squirming.”

“That was an option?” Griffin asks, his tone still full of disdain. He writhes again, and Pat’s arm tightens around his chest.

“It still is.” Pat tucks his chin into the crook of Griffin’s neck, like this is some sort of fucked-up cuddle session, and then he nuzzles a little, and the rasp of his beard makes Griffin shudder and stretch his neck out for more.

"You take too long we're gonna give somebody a show," Griffin warns him, and Pat shakes his head.

"Everyone's gone home," he says. "I can wait as long as I have to."

"I'm not spending the night in the office, jackass," Griffin retorts, but the effect is ruined by Pat taking the skin below Griffin's ear into his mouth, and the sound Griffin makes when he starts to suck. "Are you giving me a hickey?" Pat doesn't answer, and Griffin doesn't push. The fight’s going out of him fast, scary fast, and maybe he never realized how wound up he could get being pushed around or maybe it’s just that he’s stood here too long with an unzipped fly and a hard on, but he’s not going to think about it too much.

“All right, fine, uncle,  _uncle_ ,” Griffin says, and he lets himself go still, leaning into Pat’s arm and letting his fists uncurl.

“If we’re going for names, I think the classic “daddy” is fine,” Pat says, and Griffin cackles, too loud. He pictures it echoing through the vents and reaching some poor unexpected cleaning person, and his face flushes, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on the risk when they’re this far gone and Pat is moving the arm down from his chest to palm the head of Griffin’s cock through his underwear.

“Fuck,” Griffin says, and then, he can’t help it, he giggles again. Pat is shoving his jeans down as far as they can go on his spread thighs and reaching into his boxers and Griffin feels hysterical, now doubly helpless by his own admission. Pat wraps a hand around his cock, twists his wrist, and with his other hands grips Griffin’s wrists tighter, even though Griffin’s not fighting anymore.

Pat starts to stroke, slow but firm, and Griffin lets out a shaky breath, turning his face so his forehead is pressed to the door. There’s a little drag, but Griffin didn’t bring lube; a moment later Pat lets go, lifts his hand to Griffin’s mouth and says, “Lick,” and Griffin does, which is - fucking  _nuts_ , he should bite down instead, but he doesn’t even think before he does it. Pat starts jacking him again, fasting now, and Griffin starts to push his hips into the motions, but Pat shakes him a little with the hand in the small of his back. “  _Chill_ ,” Pat says, and in his terrible retribution, he slows down after that, pausing with each involuntary twitch of Griffin’s hips.

“I hate you,” Griffin says through gritted teeth, but he holds himself back. “Aren’t you gonna - say  _anything_?”

“You want me to talk so you can think about coming up with some clever response instead of the fact that you’re enjoying being pinned to the wall and having to stay still for once,” Pat tells him. He thumbs the head, speeding up a little the longer Griffin holds still.

There’s a beat. Griffin can’t think. Pat’s licking up the shell of his ear and then taking it between his teeth, and his breath is hot, and he’s everywhere. “This is a door,” Griffin manages, at last, and then thinks he maybe would’ve been better off shutting up. Pat laughs, and his rhythm doesn’t falter.

“You got me,” he says, and his voice is rich with amusement. Griffin’s dick twitches. “There’s that classic Griffin McElroy wit.”

“Fuck,” Griffin says again, meaning to finish it with  _you_ but choking on the word as Pat squeezes a little tighter. Pressure’s mounting inside him - it’s the pleasure but it’s the stillness, too, his body so unused to sex like this that he’s fucking itching just to buck up or grind back into Pat’s dick, pressed into his ass. He needs to  _move_ , but he doesn’t because he can’t, and instead he’s whining, clenching his jaw.

“Come on,” Pat says. “Come on the fucking bathroom door.”

And  _that_ shouldn’t do anything, but Pat’s voice is low and a little mean, the same way Griffin’s spoken to him a dozen times in this same stall, and his grip on Griffin’s wrists is tight enough his bones are grinding together. Griffin lets out a dry sob and comes, through Pat’s fingers and all over the brushed steel of the door. Christ. Fuck.

He’s still panting when Pat tucks him back into his boxers and tugs up his jeans, turning him gently till Griffin’s back is to the tiled wall. Griffin’s heart is pounding in his ears and his face feels hot. Pat’s got a steadying hand on his hip, but otherwise he’s giving Griffin space, waiting for his breathing to slow.

“I’m fine,” Griffin says, because Pat’s looking at him cautiously.

“That’s good,” Pat says, and tilts his head, looking Griffin up and down. His eyes are bright, shining. “I can see why you like that.”

Griffin laughs, still a little breathless. “What do you want?” he asks. The phrasing is clumsy but he’s too drained to care.

But Pat shakes his head. “You should come back to my place,” he says. “I can wait.”

And then he leans in and kisses Griffin, which they really don’t do all that often - Griffin’s too surprised to respond at first, but Pat tips his chin up with a gentle hand, and Griffin lets him. Pat licks inside his mouth like he’s taking over, and Griffin sinks a little farther down the wall. Pat tastes like mint - did he have a mint before he met Griffin? Did he plan to kiss him? Had he been thinking about it?

“Okay,” Griffin breathes, when Pat finally pulls away.

“Cool,” says Pat, casual as anything. “I’m gonna go splash some cold water on my neck.”

“And get some paper towel,” Griffin says, as Pat unlocks the stall door. Pat glances down and snorts. Griffin fights the urge to hide his face in his hands.

“Yeah,” Pat says. “That too.”


End file.
